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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27240658">Elements</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pidgeode/pseuds/pidgeode'>pidgeode</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe: 2020 but a regular year lmao, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Case Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Interrogation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poisoning, Takes Place Post s15, in which i update once every 45678 years or the next week</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:07:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27240658</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pidgeode/pseuds/pidgeode</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The catastrophic outcome of a serial poisoning investigation in Chicago throws the team into an intense interrogation session, where people are not who they seem to be—and where the case, as it turns out, is far from closed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. On Aftermath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <strong>SPOILER WARNING: this takes place post-finale; there are spoilers for that as well as a lot in between!</strong>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>On the video feed, a man took a seat at a metal table and pushed in his chair, legs scraping against the concrete floor. It was hard to tell where he was; the only thing in the camera’s field of vision was him and the stone wall behind him. The noise staticked slightly, unfocusing, taking in the echoes of water dripping from a crack in the ceiling; the distant footsteps that started to grow closer.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>When the camera refocused, the man had finished centering himself, staring into the lens—to the viewer—with his hands folded on the tabletop and his hair falling into his eyes. A thick bead of blood seeped from one nostril and stained his upper lip crimson, but he didn’t seem to notice. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>“If you’re watching this,” Spencer said, “I’m sorry.” </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p class="center"> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>P A R T     O N E</strong>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>   </p><p>     The air conditioner shut off, effectively killing the soft whir that had served as a comfortable white noise throughout the duration of the meeting. Now, the only sounds were the steady thrumming of rain against the window; the ticking of the clock that read 11:12 AM. Rossi glanced at it for the third time in the hour, silently counting down the minutes until he could leave.</p><p>     Dr. Finn noticed. “The brass needs a statement by tonight, Agent Rossi.”</p><p>     “Do they?” Rossi murmured absently. He twisted the ring on his finger once, twice, three times, before finally letting his gaze rest on the man in front of him. His eyes were cold. “How bad do they need it?”</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p>     “Why is any of this necessary?” Luke countered, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. He shook his head, swallowing back an indistinguishable emotion. “I just don’t see the point.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn exhaled slowly, tapping a pen on the edge of his desk. “It’s just protocol. The director—”</p><p>     “The <em> director </em> can shove his protocol up his ass,” Luke snapped, before dropping his gaze. He looked at the clock; 1:20 PM. The rain had stopped now, but thunder rippled in the distance like a warning, and the murky clouds made it seem as if it were nighttime. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>     “I wish I didn’t have to do this,” Dr. Finn said gently, placing the pen on the table. “No one does.”</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>     “Me neither,” Emily sighed, raising her fingers to her mouth. She started to chew her nails, then thought better of it, choosing to clasp her hands instead as she leaned back in her seat with her legs crossed. “But here we are, so what is it you <em> desperately </em> want to hear?”</p><p>     “Everything,” Dr. Finn replied simply, at 3:44 PM.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p>     “Everything,” JJ echoed with a wry smile, blinking up at the lights as if they could dry the tears starting to well up in the corners of her eyes. She exhaled, nostrils flaring. “Where do I start?”</p><p>     The rain started up again, but it was only a light drizzle; likely, it would be gone within the hour. Now, it was 5:28 PM.</p><p>     “At the beginning,” Dr. Finn said.</p><p>     The battle to not cry was lost; JJ wiped at her eyes with the heel of her palm and let out a shaky exhale. “I don’t believe this.”</p><p>     “I know how hard this must be.”</p><p>     “No, it’s not that,” JJ argued, tearing her gaze from the ceiling to look in Dr. Finn’s eyes. Her mouth was pressed in a firm line. “I just—I refuse to believe this is necessary. Because going through it...through <em> that...moment...</em>” She shook her head. “It’s just a reminder of what we could have done.”</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p>     “We should have listened,” Matt agreed softly, staring down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. He tapped his foot against the ground twice before shaking his head. “We should have listened.”</p><p>     “Listened to who?” Dr. Finn pressed.</p><p>     The rain stopped—no, <em> stopped </em> wasn’t the word for it. Rather, it felt like the rain paused, as if the sky was holding its breath and waiting for someone to speak. The clock ticked anxiously—7:12 PM—and Matt shifted in his seat before closing his eyes, gathering his bearings.</p><p>     “He told us,” he explained, barely inaudible. “He told us <em> everything, </em>and we didn’t—” His voice caught, and he swallowed with a dry throat. “We didn’t believe him. But we should have.”</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p>     Unlike the others, Tara didn’t close herself off. Fingers working to tug a loose thread from the corner of her sweater, she straightened until she was comfortable in the chair, feet firmly on the ground and eyes forward. Her face was soft and plaintive—the weary expression of someone who has been through a lot in a very short time.</p><p>     And she had been. They all had.</p><p>     “The time is 9:00 PM,” Dr. Finn announced into a small box that recorded their conversation in the center of the desk. “This is Dr. Aiden Finn of the OPR. Please state your name and rank for the tape, please.”</p><p>     “SSA Dr. Tara Lewis.”</p><p>     “Dr. Lewis.” Dr. Finn gave her a tight-lipped smile, but it wasn’t menacing; his eyes shone with sympathy. “I think it goes without saying that your team is in a great state of grief.” </p><p>     Tara nodded slightly.</p><p>     “If you may, I’d like for you to explain the events of—what happened,” Dr. Finn went on quietly, relaxing in his seat. “More importantly, I’d like you to begin with your colleague. I understand he...just came back into the field, at the time.”</p><p>     “Dr. Reid suffered a brain hemorrhage from the Everett Lynch investigation a few months prior,” Tara elaborated, speaking clearly. It looked like more of a struggle now, keeping herself together, but she persisted in her explanation. “He was working from a desk at the BAU and teaching part-time at the Academy before we made the decision to let him back into the field.”</p><p>     “This injury,” Dr. Finn noted, holding up a hand to pause the story. “In your professional opinion, do you think it had any...lasting effects? On his psyche?”</p><p>     “There was no indication that the hemorrhage had any chronic damage, no. He passed a psychological evaluation as well as a physical examination.”</p><p>     “A psychological evaluation that had been constructed by the BAU,” Dr. Finn pointed out. “An evaluation that had not been made for agents of his...intellectual capability.”</p><p>     Tara’s mouth twitched at the corner. “What do you mean?”</p><p>     “What I mean,” Dr. Finn said carefully, “is that the test could be passable to him if he chose it to be.”</p><p>     “So you think he cheated.”</p><p>     “No. I’m just hypothetically speaking.”</p><p>     “You’re not,” Tara countered, crossing her arms. Gone was the placid, easy manor; now, she had become defensive, like all the others. “I know how these interrogations work, Dr. Finn. I know the OPR is trying to pin the blame on someone to save their own record, and all you want is for me to agree with you, but I won’t. Dr. Reid’s actions were not the fault of any specific member of the BAU, but of our department’s incompetence as a whole, and even when you think otherwise, it doesn’t matter, because Spencer is already—”</p><p>     She paused abruptly, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. Dr. Finn waited, and outside, the thunder grew distant. A small fork of lightning rippled through the clouds with illuminated, reaching fingers, but as soon as it was there, it was gone, and the room was thrown back into darkness.</p><p>     “I apologize,” Tara said, after a moment. “That was out of turn.”</p><p>     “No, I completely understand,” Dr. Finn murmured, with a dismissive gesture. “This isn’t an interrogation, Dr. Lewis. It’s an investigation. And however pointless it may seem, it <em> is </em>necessary. My job is to get to the root of the incident and the events leading up to it.”</p><p>     “‘The incident’ as in the arrest.”</p><p>     “Yes.” Dr. Finn folded his hands and placed them in his lap. “I’m here to learn not only the details of the case, but the reasons why it ended the way that it did. Specifically, I need to know about Dr. Reid: who he was, how he acted...”</p><p>     “What he did,” Tara finished for him.</p><p>     Dr. Finn nodded, eyes solemn. “What he did,” he agreed softly. He placed his folded hands on top of the desk, leaning in. “Now. Tell me everything you can.”</p><p>     Tara met his gaze. “It started with a phone call.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey hey hey hey!! Nice to see you! I am really excited for this fic, and I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I’ve got a second chapter almost done, and I’m going to (hopefully) try and upload a chapter each week—maybe every Wednesday?</p><p>And speaking of which, after the second chapter drops, I might skip a week or so—I’m trying to finish a separate series thing for a different fandom by the end of the year—so updates won’t be on schedule at first. Sorry about the wonkiness. But, I hope you are intrigued enough to keep reading!</p><p>Thank you, as always!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. On Foreshadowing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>     “—Which is why victimology is the first thing we look at,” Spencer was saying as Emily crept into the lecture hall. Closing the door quietly behind her, she gave a curt nod to the man sitting next to an open chair before taking the seat herself, waiting for the lecture to be over. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Poisoning,” Spencer went on, scribbling on the board as he spoke, “is not usually a sexual act, as is oftentimes the case in stabbing or strangulation. Rarely do the victim and offender get so close as the crime is committed. Who can tell me about the Illinois Tylenol poisonings of 1982?” No one raised their hand. “Or maybe, to be specific, who knows the chemicals used in these said poisonings?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Tylenol?” someone called out weakly, after a very pregnant pause. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer deflated a little bit. “Potassium cyanide would be the correct answer.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Everyone looked down, suddenly very absorbed in their textbooks. Noticing this, and noticing Emily, Spencer capped the marker in his hand and rested it on the edge of the board, allowing himself a moment of frustration before turning back to the class. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Unfortunately,” he announced, “that is all the time we have for today. If you have any questions on your chapter, please contact me as soon as possible. Remember, those are pages 235-270, with annotations, due Thursday at 8 AM. Thank you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Emily pushed her way through the students as they all moved towards the doors, individual conversations muddling together in the crowd. On the stage, Spencer flipped through a series of binders before slipping them into his bag, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. Emily walked up the steps and peered over his shoulder to read the papers on his desk. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “When are your office hours?” she teased. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer looked up, an amused smile quirking his mouth. “What are you doing here?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     “Why did you seek out Dr. Reid for this particular case?” Dr. Finn queried, leaning back in his seat a little bit.</p><p>     “Dr. Reid has PhDs in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering,” Emily explained, sitting straight in her chair. “We knew that his proficiency in these topics—chemistry, specifically—would be an asset to our investigation.”</p><p>     “There are forensic specialists who have dedicated decades of their lives to these fields,” Dr. Finn pointed out. “Couldn’t you find a more professional consultant?”</p><p>     “I didn’t see a reason to keep him out of the field for longer than necessary. He had been cleared; we had a case. It was a win for everyone.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn nodded, but still didn’t seem satisfied. “On the lecture—did you find it intriguing that the day’s curriculum coincidentally seemed to parallel many details of the case you received?”</p><p>     Emily pressed her lips together. “No. If anything, his knowledge was convenient.”</p><p>     Her body language, however, told a different story.</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     “Reid, would you need a chemistry history in order to pull something like this off?” Luke asked, skimming the file. Around him, the rest of the team moved closer, until everyone was gathered in a ragged semicircle to go over the case details. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Definitely,” Spencer confirmed, glancing down at his own file, “but the entire thing reads almost like a practice run. No two people had the same chemicals in their bodies, yes, but they’re amateaur elements—anyone who took a college lab class could pull this off.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Twenty different chemicals,” Emily noted, “that shouldn’t be so hard to trace.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Unless he’s been planning it,” Matt argued. “It would be harder to find records of chemical purchases dating back months. We should try to figure out if any similar, smaller crimes have been committed in the past year. Something like this tells me he isn’t an amateur.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “What I’m interested in is the randomness of it all,” Rossi murmured. “All ten victims don’t seem to be connected in any way except for the fact that they were there. This could tell us that it’s the actual poisoning that matters to the UNSUB. He’s carrying out experiments.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “I don’t think so,” Tara mused. “If it was an experiment, he’d need controlled variables. These people...he’d have to know everything about his victims in order to ensure his results were as accurate as they could be, and so far, there’s no controlled element.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “We could be looking at another Tylenol panic, like in Chicago,” Luke offered, causing everyone to exchange uneasy glances. “In those cases, the victims were completely random.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Rossi sighed to himself, setting his file to the side. “Meaning, for our UNSUB, all that matters is inflicting as much pain as possible. How did that case end, Reid?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer ran his tongue over his lips before admitting, “The killer was never caught, and seven people died.” His expression turned grim. “Even more, the poisonings sparked a number of copycats.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     “So that’s what you thought it was?” Dr. Finn queried. “A copycat?”</p><p>     “It was hard to tell,” JJ confessed. “We were called in because a week prior, ten people died after attending a street festival in Chicago. Each had a cocktail of different drugs and chemicals in their system—one of which did contain potassium cyanide. We felt like it had to be inspired in some sort of way.”</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     “But unlike the 1982 murders,” Luke said, “This had to be planned so much more carefully. An attack like that was definitely a step above tainted meds—and it was a single event, solely in Chicago, rather than multiple cases scattered across the state of Illinois.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn didn’t react. Instead, he scribbled something down on the small notepad in the corner of his desk and continued his interrogation. “How did Dr. Reid behave on the jet? Was he aloof? Morose, even?”</p><p>     “There’s always something going on with him,” Luke started to say, then quickly, he reiterated, “not that he’s ever <em> hiding </em> anything. Reid’s just an introvert. Keeps to himself. Nothing suspicious about that.”</p><p>     “Keeps to himself,” Dr. Finn echoed. He straightened his posture, ready for a question that was spoken as if he had rehearsed it beforehand. “So the fact that Dr. Reid also neglected to tell the team that he was <em> in </em> Chicago<em>—during the week of the attack, </em>might I add—was that at all concerning? Or did it just seem like he was...” The ghost of an almost condescending smile traced his lips, and he shrugged. “‘Being an introvert’?”</p><p>     Luke exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. “It wasn’t relevant at first.” </p><p>     It was impossible to say it without sounding incriminating, and the look on Dr. Finn’s face told Luke that he was thinking the exact same thing. “What about the other things that <em> weren’t </em>relevant at first, Agent? Could you mention those, for the tape?”</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     “No, I can’t,” Spencer said, very softly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     JJ tried not to eavesdrop as he held the phone closer to his ear, mouth twisting in what looked to be anxiety. Everyone else on the jet seemed to be asleep, texting, or reading the case file, but JJ noticed, after a moment, that each member of the team was sneaking glances at him as well. The no-profiling rule hung in the air, but she knew all of them couldn’t help but wonder. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     With a sigh, Spencer hung up the phone and flashed a tight smile to the rest of the team, taking a seat next to Luke, who was skimming a newspaper and paused to ask, “Everything okay?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Fine,” Spencer replied tersely, leaning back into the chair. Off Luke’s continued eye contact, he shifted a little bit. “What’s wrong?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Nothing,” Matt replied for Luke, an easy smile calming the atmosphere. “It’s just good to see you back in the saddle.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Shoulders relaxing, Spencer pulled a book from his bag and managed to read two pages before pausing to dig the heel of his palm into his eye with a small grimace. After tucking the novel away, he wrapped his arms around his stomach and leaned his head against the window. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Everyone noticed. “You good?” Luke questioned. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Fine,” Spencer replied quietly, closing his eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     JJ and Rossi flashed a nervous glance, and everyone else wore the same uneasy expression. All of them knew he had been cleared, but it didn’t settle the small twist in their guts—only months ago, Spencer had worn the same uncomfortable expression, and the lack of concern over it had landed him seizing on the floor of his apartment. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     The memory too fresh in her mind, JJ piped up, “You sure?” When Spencer didn’t respond, the worry tugged harder, and she leaned over to press the back of her hand to his forehead. “Is it a migraine? You don’t have a fever.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     To her surprise, Spencer jerked up and grabbed her wrist, pinning it to the seat. After a brief moment to stare at what he did, he let go and refolded his arms. “Sorry. I’m fine. Just, um, airsick.” When JJ didn’t look convinced, he insisted, “Really. Everything’s fine.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Just making sure, kid,” Rossi apologized softly, letting his gaze linger for a moment before looking back down to his laptop. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer squirmed a little, understanding where it came from. “I know. I’m sorry.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Breaking the tension, Emily stood up and moved into a seat closer to the center of the jet, announcing, “When we land, Matt, and Luke, you can meet the detectives at the festival grounds. Tara, you can set up with JJ and I at the precinct—we’re going to start interviewing the victims’ families. Dave, that leaves you and Reid to the ME.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer looked tense upon hearing this, and after a moment, he requested, “Actually, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to go to the ME alone.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Emily raised her eyebrows. “Any reason why?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “You have ten families to go through,” Spencer explained, without making eye contact. “I think, um, it’d be easier if Rossi was there with you. I can take the reports by myself.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Sure,” Emily replied, after a slow moment. “Dave, you can join us at the precinct.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer looked satisfied with that. “Thanks.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     Dr. Finn shook his head a little bit at that. “An entire team of behavioral analysts in one room, yet <em> none </em> of you saw anything wrong with Dr. Reid and his request?”</p><p>     “No,” Rossi replied simply.</p><p>     Dr. Finn’s frown deepened. “No?”</p><p>     “No,” Rossi confirmed again. He crossed his arms. “I don’t think you understand the dynamic of this team, Doctor. When you’ve worked with Reid for as long as I have, you learn to understand his methods. Unconventional methods, sure, but in the end, he always did the right thing.”</p><p>     “Except for this last case,” Dr. Finn remarked pointedly, opening a file that had previously laid untouched on his desk. “Or, maybe not. I have a few interesting reports dating all the way back to 2006, if you’re interested in hearing them—starting with...Tobias Hankel. He went off the rails on that one, I see.” Rossi’s fists clenched, but he kept speaking. “There’s more, Agent, if you’re not aware.”</p><p>     “I <em> am,” </em> Rossi hissed.</p><p>     Dr. Finn remained impassive. “Then maybe I should correct you. <em> Understanding his methods </em> is not the same thing as <em> ignoring his actions</em>, Agent—actions that weren’t so much Machiavellian as they were mistrustful, ruthless, and out of control.”</p><p>     “You don’t sound like you have an <em> ounce </em>of respect for what this man did,” Rossi snapped. “What he—”</p><p>     But his voice broke, and he looked at his hands, shaking slightly around the death grip he had on his pants.</p><p>     “Then let me tell you where I stand on the matter,” Dr. Finn said slowly. “From an unbiased perspective, it looks like this meeting was avoidable. And showing <em> respect </em> for what he did—what he <em> confessed </em> to doing—<em>that, </em>Agent Rossi, is not what I am going to do, no.” He closed one hand into a fist with his index finger extended, jabbing it on the desk to punctuate his words as he spoke. “So let me make one thing clear moving forward: do not. Defend. This man. We are here to close a case, not to argue.”</p><p>     The fight started to die from Rossi’s eyes, and his voice was quieter, more desperate, when he spoke again. “He wasn’t that kind of person.”</p><p>     Surprisingly, Dr. Finn’s tone softened as well. “You kept telling yourself that, and you wanted to believe it was true. I understand why.”</p><p>     A Manila folder was produced from under his notepad and he opened it, turning it around so that the pages inside were facing Rossi—except they weren’t just pages; they were photographs as well. Dr. Finn spread them out, smoothing over nonexistent creases until twenty-two different faces and twenty-two different autopsy reports coated the desk like a tablecloth. Then, he leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.</p><p>     “But look where that got you.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yikes.</p><p>Chapter 2 is early! Woo! Unfortunately it may be a little while until Chapter 3, I’m in a bit of a writing rut. But I hope you enjoy this! As always, thanks for being intrigued!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. On Merit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     Dr. Finn plucked his glasses off his nose and scrubbed a hand across his face, clearly exasperated. “So, there’s no one who can account for Dr. Reid’s whereabouts while the rest of you were at the crime scene and the precinct?”</p><p>     “The ME can,” JJ contended. “I’m sure you’ve taken Dr. Han’s statement.”</p><p>     “We have.” A sheet of paper was brandished and almost immediately slid back into its file, as if Dr. Finn was worried that it would get dirty if exposed too long. “Your jet landed at four minutes past noon. We have records of Dr. Reid signing <em>in</em> at the coroner’s office at exactly half past and signing <em>out</em> at 12:57.”</p><p>     JJ furrowed her brow, confused. “I don’t see the problem.”</p><p>     “The <em>problem</em>,” Dr. Finn explained, returning his glasses to his face, “is that no one from your team reported seeing Dr. Reid until roughly 1:45 PM, when he showed up at the crime scene. So, Agent Jareau, my inquiry remains: what was he doing in that timeframe? And even more interesting,” he added, leaving the question to hang in the air, “was what Dr. Han had to say about Dr. Reid’s behavior during his visit—more specifically, a rather pointed question he asked at the end.”</p><p>     “Which was?”</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     “Who suffered the most?” Spencer blurted out.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Dr. Han looked up. “I beg your pardon?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p>     “If I might interrupt?” Tara requested.</p><p>     Dr. Finn paused in his explanation and looked on expectantly, arms crossed.</p><p>     “When we look at victimology,” Tara said, “the circumstances of death are as important as the death itself.” To explain, she drew circles on the desk with her index finger. “The immediate group of victims all had different chemicals in their systems. We knew the UNSUB had to have at least a basic knowledge of chemistry—arsenic is odorless, cyanide interferes with cellular respiration, et cetera. There was a possibility that among this pool of victims was the real object of the UNSUB’s rage—and if this was true, it was most likely that they would have suffered the most.”</p><p>     “So why poison ten people instead of just the one?” Dr. Finn prompted.</p><p>     “It might have been easy to figure out the UNSUB if only one poisoning had occurred,” Tara explained. “There are a limited number of suspects; a close circle of friends and family to narrow down. But with nine more people and eighteen more chemicals…”</p><p>     “It would be harder to find the true target,” Dr. Finn finished, understanding. Tara nodded in agreement. “Well, thank you for the explanation, Doctor; however, there were more things the ME wanted me to know.”</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p> <em>    “Who suffered the most?” Spencer blurted out.</em></p><p>
  <em>     Dr. Han looked up. “I beg your pardon?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “The chemicals,” Spencer said, glossing over the report, “which mixture would have caused the most pain?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “That would have been Ms. Peggy Rider,” Dr. Han replied sadly, moving across the room with his shoes clicking against the tile until he came to stop in front of one of the metal slabs. On it rested a woman who seemed to be in her late forties. “A botulinum toxin overdose would have shut down her nervous system, putting her through an excruciating ordeal.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Did all of the victims experience as much pain?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Dr. Han paused for a moment, brow furrowed in deep thought. “It’s complicated.” Pulling another file off the counter, he elaborated, “The chemicals in each body seem incredibly random: cyanide; arsenic; belladonna...there was absolutely no structure.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “So the UNSUB must be intelligent,” Spencer said to himself, “but also in a great state of psychosis.” He turned back to Dr. Han. “Do you know how the chemicals entered their bodies?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “All were ingested; slipped into their alcohol,” Dr. Han responded, more confidently. He took a moment to sweep his mournful gaze over the morgue, where tucked behind the shelves were ten bodies of varying ages. “I’ve never—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Seen this in your entire career?” Spencer guessed absently, turning the pages of his file. He glanced up and gave the doctor an uncomfortable smile; lips pressed together. “I know.” With a flourish, he tossed the ME report back onto the table and squatted down with his hands over his knees, nose almost brushing Ms. Rider’s cheek. “It looks like the skin remained fairly firm despite the amount of Botox.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “It appears that she was given so much poison that it killed her before the skin could react properly,” Dr. Han noted. “Within ten minutes, she was gone.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer frowned, posing himself back upright. “So she wasn’t the winner.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “The...the winner?” Dr. Han shook his head, confused. “Dr. Reid—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “I asked who suffered the most,” Spencer said, sounding slightly impatient. He brought a hand up to rub at one eye with a frustrated sigh. “You need to take the duration of death into account for that. It’s...”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     His words trailed off as his focus landed on a plaque fused to the wall, congratulating Dr. Han for his medical school graduation as well as announcing that only twelve people were allowed in the morgue at once. His arms dropped to his sides, mouth slack, and eventually, his gaze drifted to the ceiling light. The file crinkled in his grip, which was tightening and slackening at rhythmic intervals.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Dr. Han frowned. “Dr. Reid?” No response. “Are you alright?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     A few more seconds passed before Spencer blinked unsteadily and dragged his eyes back to the body. Without a word, he slapped the medical report back onto the table with clumsy fingers, stumbled, and caught himself on the edge of the slab before making his way slowly out the door, fumbling to pull his phone out of his pocket.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p>     “That claim is a little...outlandish, don’t you think?” Matt commented.</p><p>     Dr. Finn shrugged. “Do you have another idea?”</p><p>     Matt’s brow furrowed. “He could have just been sick. He had a headache on the plane. Could also be a seizure of some sort.”</p><p>     “But,” Dr. Finn argued, “taking into account the...<em>later</em> events...is it really that unconventional? I’m not speaking professionally,” he added quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. After he dropped his arms into his lap, he said, “I’m just...theorizing.”</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p><em>     “Theorizing</em> is not what we do here,” Rossi scoffed. He took a pen from the desk in front of him and fidgeted with it. “Maybe he was just...spacing out. He does that sometimes.”</p><p>     “And wandering off for over forty minutes?” Dr. Finn questioned. “Does he do that sometimes as well?” Rossi didn’t answer, choosing instead to sit back and cross his arms, eyes gleaming with defiance. “Very well. You see, Agent Rossi, there was a professional—two, actually—who came in and reviewed your colleague’s case from unbiased perspectives.”</p><p>     Rossi sighed. “And let me guess,” he said, voice laced with exasperation, “your prognosis was supported.”</p><p>     “It was.”</p><p>     The ticking of the clock gave the resounding silence a rhythmic beat, as Rossi and Dr. Finn locked eyes and refused to say more. Both were waiting for the other to bring up the conclusion; to give a name to the elephant in the room.</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p>     Luke’s face fell. “You think he was having a schizophrenic break.”</p><p>     “The evidence was convincing.”</p><p>     The expression morphed from somber to confused. “Convincing?”</p><p>     “Well,” Dr. Finn mused, “look at the symptoms: headaches. Blackouts. Mood swings. Paranoia. Hallucinations. Delusions. It seemed clear at first.”</p><p>     “At <em>first?”</em></p><p>     “Thirty-nine is quite late for a schizophrenic break, don’t you think?”</p><p>     Luke gnawed at the inside of his cheek, suddenly anxious. Dr. Finn watched his body language before suggesting, perhaps to ease the tension, “Why don’t you tell me what you and Agent Simmons learned on the festival grounds?”</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p>     <em>Matt pored over the file in his hands, swiping some of the rain from the paper. It was lightly drizzling. “At the time of the poisonings, there were fifteen other people seated at the other tables,” he summarized. “Then again, it looks like the times that each person took to die varied—some were gone as soon as their lips touched the glass, others were nearly done with their meal.”</em></p><p>
  <em>     “It looks like the alcohol wasn’t tainted when the grounds were opened,” Luke continued, sweeping his gaze across the lot. Now that most of the forensic teams had left, he could see that this segment of the festival grounds were about 300 square feet—the size of a small parking lot. He tried to picture the booths crowded with people, sitting down at the counters and tables, holding the wine under their nose and taking a whiff of the poison inside—poison they didn’t know was there until it was too late. “Likely, the UNSUB had to be at the festival during the attack.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “If it is one UNSUB,” Matt ruminated, “he probably would have worked at the wine booth. Poisoning ten people at once is hard to do by yourself.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Unless he came prepared.” They both knew how fast it took to crush a pill, empty a syringe, or turn out a packet into someone’s beverage; they saw it all the time at clubs and bars with drugs like GHB. “All the UNSUB had to do was walk by, maybe bump into the victim to distract them—even offer to buy a drink. And before anyone can think twice about it?” Luke snapped his fingers. “Connor O’Donovan just took a thallium shot.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “What if this is religious?” Matt suggested. “This was a wine tasting. Bread and wine—is this mocking the Eucharist; making a statement about Christianity?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “It’s not.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Luke and Matt turned around to see Spencer, making his way towards them. There was something off about him; maybe it was the slight dazedness in his eyes, or the way his arms swung at his sides as he walked. But whatever it was, the others pushed back their curiosity in order to gauge the news.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “The UNSUB knew all ten victims,” Spencer explained, coming to a stop in front of them. In his hands was a new case file, and he passed it over to Matt. “Look.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Oh, my God,” Matt murmured. He glanced back up at Spencer. “Where did you learn this?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p>     “Where <em>did</em> he learn it?” Dr. Finn pressed, even though he already knew the answer. He cracked open the cap of his water bottle and took a long sip, eyes on Tara the entire time. Once he finished drinking, he set his folded arms on the desktop. “Dr. Lewis?”</p><p>     “We don’t know,” Tara admitted. “Agents Prentiss and Rossi were interviewing the victims’ families with me. Agent Simmons called Agent Jareau only moments after we made the connection ourselves.”</p><p>     “Dr. Reid wasn’t with you?”</p><p>     After a moment, Tara turned away. “No.”</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p>     <em>Emily froze, a cold feeling creeping into her stomach. “You’re telling me that Jeni’s brother was diabetic?”</em></p><p>
  <em>     Mrs. Lee nodded shakily, dragging her sleeve across her already-red eyes. Her husband gave her a comforting squeeze of her hand before answering for her. “Paul died of ketoacidosis a few years ago.” He paused to collect himself, taking a deep breath. “He was away at a summer camp out of state when it happened...why?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Emily just stared.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Jeni Lee’s drink had been spiked with insulin.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>··································</p><p> </p><p> <em>    “He canoed with the Boy Scouts every year,” Thalia Gregory, Zachary Newman’s girlfriend, explained. She glanced down, fiddling with a small keychain. “He was such a good guy, you know? I can’t—who would have done this to him?”</em></p><p>
  <em>     Rossi passed her a box of tissues as she proceeded to burst into tears, all the while scanning the tox report, all the while trying to stay calm as he realized that Zachary’s glass contained juice from the root of a water hemlock plant.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>··································</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     Luke grabbed the file from Matt’s hands and read it silently before he snapped his head back up, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer nodded gravely. “There was no single object of rage,” he said. “Each victim was the intended target.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Matt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The poisons fit their lifestyles. This wasn’t experimental.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer took the file from Luke. “This was just deserts.”</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lots of things happening in this chapter! If the names of the victims are a little hard to keep up with, I’ll drop all ten victims and their “just deserts” in the next chapter, if you’re interested. Thanks for reading, as always!</p><p>Also, I was thinking of changing the title of this fic to just “Elements”. Thoughts?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. On Ignorance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>      “What if this was a solitary attack?” Luke asked no one in particular, as he glossed over the geographical profile—not that there was much of one to work with. Only eleven tabs marked the locations of their single crime scene and the victims’ addresses, and Luke grit his teeth. Back at Quantico, Kevin was still running traces on each drug, element, and mixture, but based on his current status, not much progress was going to be made.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      In other words, there was little to no chance of catching their UNSUB without making some sort of connection between the victims. </em>
</p><p><em>     At the round table that rested in the center of the conference room, Tara mulled over the proposition. “It’s definitely a possibility,” she concurred. “I mean, to know </em>this <em>much</em> <em>information on all ten victims in order to match their lifestyles to their deaths? It’s not random.”</em></p><p>
  <em>      “What I’m puzzled about is the convenience of it all,” Rossi murmured, taking a long sip of coffee. “The UNSUB had to have access to the festival records: who was going, who was not, but even then, how the hell could he have known all the victims would be in the same section at the same time?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Maybe there were multiple UNSUBS,” Tara suggested. “It takes a lot of work to pull off something like this.” </em>
</p><p><em>      “But if it </em> was <em> a targeted attack at these individuals,” Luke murmured, still staring at the board, “how are we going to know if the UNSUB has completed his mission? If anything, he’s going to get off on the press this attack has been getting. Who’s to say whether or not he’s compiling a new list of victims now?” </em></p><p>
  <em>      Rossi pursed his lips, answering quietly, “We’re going to have to wait for a second attack.” </em>
</p><p><em>      Tara groaned and put her face in her hands. “Which could be </em> years <em> from now,” she pointed out. “God knows how long this single event took to plan.” </em></p><p>
  <em>      “And in a city of two million people? We don’t know who’s next to take that unsavory guide,” Rossi sighed, tossing the ME report to the side and resting his elbows on the table. “Take it from me: Chicago ain’t the sort of place where people live life on the downlow.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Luke let out a low whistle of agreement and turned to Spencer, who had been quiet for the duration of the discussion and sat with his head bent over a blank crime scene report. “How many major public events occur in this city a year?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer lifted his gaze for a moment and promptly replied, “Dunno,” before returning to the papers in front of him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “You don’t know?” Luke clarified, his focus taken from the map.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Rossi and Tara exchanged a look as well, both caught off guard. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>“I told you to tell me the moment you started becoming concerned,” Dr. Finn said.</p><p>     Rossi blinked. “That was the moment.”</p><p>     “I apologize for my confusion, but...why was that worrisome?” Dr. Finn asked. “I don’t know about the festivals in the <em> district </em>myself, let alone a place I don’t live…”  But Rossi’s expression said everything. “Oh, right. The genius thing.”</p><p>     It was hard to ignore the soft trace of scorn in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     “Well, the not-knowing <em> was </em> weird,” Luke agreed, “but I brushed it off, I guess, at first. For me, it wasn’t until later on that I started to wonder what was up.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn nodded for him to explain. “What did he do?”</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     “So you’re telling me,” Matt clarified, casting his go-bag on the bed, “there’s something wrong with Reid...because he didn’t want to share a room with you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Luke shook his head. “It’s not just that. Something weird’s been going on with him; I can tell.” He dug the room keys from his pockets and tossed them onto the kitchenette counter. “You saw how he was acting on the jet. He’s barely said anything since we landed, he’s being secretive, he’s spacing out...I’m just saying, it’s not like him.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Maybe the best thing you can do is just let him be,” Matt offered. He disappeared into the bathroom, but his voice carried back into the room over the sound of the running faucet. “Sometimes all you gotta do is give a guy some space. You know?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Luke thought for a moment, setting his bag in the corner of the room without bothering to unpack. “I could stop by his room for a sec. Just to see if everything’s okay.” </em>
</p><p>     “Luke.” <em> Matt re-entered the room with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. “I’m telling you, don’t push him. It’s probably nothing.” He crossed the room and started to rest folded shirts in the small dresser that lay pressed between the beds. “And I don’t think he’d appreciate someone banging on his door in the middle of the night. Especially if he’s not feeling well.” </em></p><p>
  <em>      Luke sighed. “Maybe you’re right.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     “So what did he do?” Dr. Finn pressed.</p><p>     Matt raised his eyebrows.</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>      Luke gave the door a few wary knocks. “Hey, Reid? You in there?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      The rest of the team had retired to their own rooms quickly; the hallway was empty. Luke dared to rap on the door a little louder and the sound bounced off the walls and echoed through the empty hallway like ghostly footsteps. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “It’s Luke. Reid.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      After a moment of thumping, a muffled noise of confirmation came from the room. Luke took a step back and waited to be let inside, but the door only opened a crack. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer’s voice was quiet. “Hi.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Hey,” Luke replied, furrowing his brow. Something was definitely wrong. “Mind if I step in?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      After a moment of hesitation, the door opened all the way. Spencer ensured it was locked before turning to Luke, who idled in the center of the room with his hands in his pockets. He swept his gaze around the room, surprised to find that it looked lived-in. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “You look comfy.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer matched his eyes, taking in the water bottles lining the tables, the open drawer, and the blankets that lay rumpled and unkept on the bed. “Yeah. I, um, unpacked.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “You usually don’t.” When he got no reaction, Luke tilted his head. “Just like you don’t often bring a dozen plastic water bottles in your carry-on.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer averted his gaze. “I’m fine.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “You sure about that? I’m not trying to pry, man—honest—but something’s up.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Nothing’s up. Everything’s fine.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Luke scrunched his brow slightly, weighing the truth behind his words. Clearly, not everything was fine. But what? Spencer shifted from foot to foot, eyes flicking to his bed, then the bathroom, then the closet, cracked open only a smidge. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      One thing at a time, Luke decided. “Mind if I use your bathroom?” he asked, trying to be nonchalant. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      It didn’t work; Spencer frowned, looking mildly disgusted. “Please don’t.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Sorry.” So much for that idea. Luke took a step towards the bed and Spencer moved in sync, like he was guarding something. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Eye contact. Both equally uncomfortable. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Luke said, “There’s only one bed in here.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer pointed out, “There’s only one occupant.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      This wasn’t going well. “Right,” Luke murmured, mentally kicking himself. Subtlety, he decided, was not working. “I guess I gotta let the cat out of the bag.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “The interesting thing about the cat-dog debate is that dogs aren’t as popular as they seem, only leading the former with a 51-percent preference.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Luke only stared at him. “What are you hiding, Reid?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer wrinkled his nose. “Hiding? I’m not hiding anything.” </em>
</p><p><em>      “Well, </em> something’s <em> wrong,” Luke accused. “I know you like your space, Reid, and I know you’re not the most comfortable with these conversations, but something’s bothering you. Look, if I’m being a little overbearing—” </em></p><p><em>      “Actually, you are,” Spencer interrupted, his words clipped, “and I would really appreciate it if you left.” He took a step forward, hands clenched, but kept his eyes on the ground, darting around. “It’s late, I’m tired, and we have a case ahead of us. Nothing’s wrong with me—nothing </em> has been <em> wrong with me—and I just need you to keep your distance. Okay?” </em></p><p>
  <em>      Luke raised his eyebrows, shocked at the outburst. “Okay.” </em>
</p><p><em>      “Go back to bed,” Spencer went on, scrubbing his hands over his face with a ferocious passion before raising his gaze. “Matt’s waiting for you, and the last thing I need right now is worrying about—” He stepped on a shoe that lay sprawled in the center of the room and he gave it an angry kick. “—worrying about </em> you <em> worrying about me. I just can’t focus when too many people are asking what’s wrong when </em> nothing <em> is wrong. So don’t act like this.” </em></p><p>
  <em>      Luke only blinked, stepping over the threshold. He was back in the hallway now, and Spencer looked a little guilty. An uncomfortable tension hung in the air.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      After a moment, the latter sighed. “I just need to be alone.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Then look me in the eyes,” Luke ordered, “and tell me I can trust you. Tell me that you’re okay.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer’s eyes were solemn. “I’m okay.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Despite every instinct that was telling him to say otherwise, Luke nodded. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      The door closed in his face. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     Dr. Finn glossed over a small file, smiling slightly to himself. “There was no footage of the interior of Dr. Reid’s hotel room.”</p><p>     JJ wasn’t sure where the statement was heading. “No,” she confirmed carefully, “that would be an invasion of privacy.”</p><p>     “But you are also aware of what we found there.”</p><p>     This made JJ drop her gaze to her lap, jaw working as she tried to keep her composure. Her voice was barely audible, and what could be heard of it shook. “Yes.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn didn’t waver in his stoicism during this change of expression. He took a moment to stare before turning back down to his desk, sliding a sheet of paper across the table. Rossi’s handwriting. “This is the crime scene report.” Another paper was placed atop it. “This was the hotel confirming that Dr. Reid had checked into a different hotel room two weeks prior.”</p><p>     “We couldn’t have known,” JJ said quietly. “Our rooms were named under the Bureau.”</p><p>     “I understand.” Dr. Finn’s face contorted into a look of almost sympathy before he returned to the matter at hand. “A security camera shows Dr. Reid exiting the hotel at almost midnight and returning three hours later. No one noticed except the front desk guard and the cameras.”</p><p>     “No, sir.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn gave a long, exasperated sigh and rested his forehead on his knuckles, elbows balanced on the tabletop. “As Agent Rossi said, you needed another attack to work out a solid profile.” JJ didn’t reply, but she didn’t need to. “And you got one.”</p><p>     JJ shifted her focus to the rain that was streaking down the window and casting spotted shadows on the desk, which was coated in pale light from the setting sun outside. “We did.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn poked his face from his hands, features soft and slack. The corners of his mouth pulled downwards slightly, and for a moment, he seemed genuinely distraught. “Nine people this time.”</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     “This was a complicated profile,” Emily murmured, her attention fixed on her hands. She uncrossed her legs and straightened her posture a little bit. “We couldn’t give one just yet, even after the second round.”</p><p>     “And especially after the phone call,” Dr. Finn supplied. Emily nodded. “Agent Prentiss, I understand what we’re trying to do here. And I know that we could try to look past the misgivings and focus on the fact that the case was solved in the end.”</p><p>     “But that would be wrong,” Emily concluded.</p><p>     Dr. Finn gave a slight nod. “It would. Not just because of the overlooking,” he went on, gesturing to the crime scene photos, “but for the number of victims. And it is the OPR’s job to take everything—good or bad—into account. You see what I’m trying to say?”</p><p>     Emily nodded slowly. “This isn’t just an interview.”</p><p>     “No, it’s not.” Dr. Finn leaned down to open a drawer in the inside of his desk, metal groaning, breaking the steady white noise of the raindrops. “I’m sure you’ve figured this out by now, and I am truly sorry for having to go through such a devastating case with you.”</p><p>     “But you need to know involvement,” Emily deduced. “It’s not only Dr. Reid under investigation.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn pursed his lips. “Yes. Unfortunately, the powers-that-be have asked me to judge the…” He searched for the right word. “The <em> character. </em>Of this team. And everyone in it.”</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     Rossi furrowed his brow, confused. “You’re saying the brass is going to pin this on <em> all </em>of us?” he asked. Dr. Finn nodded. “Why? It—”</p><p>     “I know,” Dr. Finn interrupted, holding a hand up, “I know.” Rossi quieted. “Believe me, Agent. This is as terrible for me as it is for you.”</p><p>     “Somehow, I doubt that.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn wasn’t fazed by this comment. “I did ask why this was necessary. Do you know what I got in response?”</p><p>     “The folders,” Rossi murmured, nodding to himself.</p><p>     “The folders,” Dr. Finn affirmed. The said folders were finally produced from his drawer, landing with a heavy thud on the desk. The metal cabinet clinked shut. “I’m assuming you know what’s inside.”</p><p>     “The victims. The reports.”</p><p>     “Not just them. There were twenty-two confirmed civilian murders, as you know.” </p><p>     The stack was passed across the table and Rossi caught it with both hands, careful not to jostle the recording box that lay in the center of the table. He didn’t look inside the files; he already knew what was inside.</p><p>     “But in total, this investigation caused <em> fifty-five </em> deaths.” </p><p>     After he spoke, Dr. Finn took his turn to pause, to stare at the window with his tongue kneading the inside of his cheek as if he were massaging words out of his mouth. Only moments later, however, the solemnity vanished, and he gazed at Rossi with an odd look of vague conceit.</p><p>     “So explain to me, Agent: how is this the work of one man?”</p><p>     Rossi held his gaze, eyes cold. “It isn’t.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was going to make an “oh my god, they were roommates” joke between Luke and Reid, but I guess that kind of backfired, didn’t it?</p><p>Thanks for being patient with these chapters and me essentially burning the schedule to the ground! Also rip to Rossi for always being the receiver of somber news in this fic. If there’s a character you want to see more of, please let me know!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. On Loyalty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     If there was one thing Matt prided himself on, it was keeping his cool. Most of the time, even when confronted with unthinkable threats and unspeakable dangers, Matt was able to keep a level head. Surprisingly, he could do this even while violently handling said threats and dangers.</p><p>     And prior to Dr. Finn’s accusation, Matt <em> had </em> kept his cool, <em> had </em>refrained from any snide comments or insults that had passed his mind. Spitting and snapping would do no one any good, he knew; however, hearing that his team was about to be blamed for an unimaginable crime made him bristle—especially so soon after what they went through.</p><p>     “You think <em> we </em>did this?” Matt demanded, as Dr. Finn jotted something down on a notepad. The question hung heavy in the air for a moment, and Matt was starting to get the feeling that this man was low key getting off on the psychological pain he was causing.</p><p>     Dr. Finn tore the page from his notepad and slid it across the table, along with a small stack of printed documents he had procured from one of his many Manila files. “Not all of you.”</p><p>     Wordlessly, eyebrows furrowed, Matt accepted the papers and read over them carefully, pausing at a certain page: a series of text messages.</p><p>     “That thread occurred three days after the third attack,” Dr. Finn explained quietly. “If I understand correctly...Agent Alvez was in charge of handling Spencer after an incident in the precinct.”</p><p>     Matt was too absorbed in the text messages to conjure up a response.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>SPENCER REID ⮕ LUKE ALVEZ</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>September 19, 2020     2:06 AM (CT)</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Please trust me. I have to. I’m so sorry, but the best thing for all of you is if I stay away. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <b>LUKE ALVEZ ⮕ SPENCER REID</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>September 19, 2020     2:08 AM (CT)</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Why would you do this? </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>2:10 AM (CT)</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> If you can’t explain, then just say what you need. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <b>SPENCER REID ⮕ LUKE ALVEZ</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>September 19, 2020     2:11 AM (CT)</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I need you to keep working. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>2:13 AM (CT)</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> But remember that you’re a part of it now, and remember that whatever happens, you can tell no one—especially not the others. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>2:14 AM (CT)</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> The things that I could do to them.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <strong>LUKE ALVEZ <b>⮕ SPENCER REID</b></strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>September 19, 2020     2:16 AM (CT)</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>This is wrong. Just come back to us, Reid.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>2:17 AM (CT)</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>You’re not capable of something like this.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <b>SPENCER REID ⮕ LUKE ALVEZ</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>September 19, 2020     2:17 AM (CT)</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>You have no idea what I’m capable of.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     “That’s not to say everyone has something to hide,” Dr. Finn insisted, raising his hands up like he was surrendering. He thought for a moment, trying to decide how to phrase things. “Just...them. For the tape, the reason I am not saying the names out loud is for safety of both myself and the interviewee.”</p><p>     Tara glanced back up, mouth tugged downwards with concern. “And you’re sure these agents had something to do with the murders?”</p><p>     “Only that it’s possible,” Dr. Finn replied vaguely, though the gleam in his eyes told Tara that <em> yes, </em>he did believe it was entirely possible. More than possible, in fact.</p><p>     On the list were three names.</p><p> </p><ul>
<li><b><em>Luke Alvez</em></b></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><strong><em>David Rossi</em></strong></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><strong><em>Emily Prentiss</em></strong></li>
</ul><p> </p><p><b>  </b>The look in Tara’s eyes shifted a little bit, like she was catching on to something—maybe something Dr. Finn was unaware of. “And this is everyone?”</p><p>     “Yes, ma’am.” Dr. Finn leaned back in his seat, eyes pinned on the spinning tape in front of him. Then, moving slowly, he slid his hand across the desk and paused the recording.</p><p>     Tara watched him do so, and her mouth curled slightly. “What do you want?”</p><p>     “A favor,” Dr. Finn replied quietly. “I need you to watch someone for me.”</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     “And this is everyone?” Rossi confirmed, running over the list.</p><p>     Dr. Finn nodded. “That’s everyone, Agent.”</p><p>     Rossi glanced down.</p><p> </p><ul>
<li><b><em>Tara Lewis</em></b></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><strong><em>Matt Simmons</em></strong></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><strong><em>Jennifer Jareau</em></strong></li>
</ul><p> </p><p>     “Forgive me for being so...<em> apprehensive,” </em> Rossi murmured, smoothing over the lapels of his jacket with his palms. “I’ve worked with these first agents for nearly five years now—and the third has been with the BAU for over a decade. I trust them with my life.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn carried just as much bite in his voice when he replied, “Maybe you shouldn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     Emily was mulling over the information in her hands when she noticed something off about the list Dr. Finn had given her. By now, the recording had been paused, and she understood her assignment, but another name on the paper gave her reason to hesitate.</p><p> </p><ul>
<li><b><em>Derek Morgan</em></b></li>
</ul><p> </p><p>     “Agent Morgan hasn’t been at the BAU for four years,” she uttered, raising her gaze to meet Dr. Finn’s. “In fact, he assisted us with creating the profile after the second poisoning. Why would you think he’s a person of interest?”</p><p>     Dr. Finn looked both ways, as if he was still afraid someone was listening in. “We have video footage of Dr. Reid leaving his hotel room shortly after Agent Alvez had spoken to him. According to former SSA Morgan, Dr. Reid stopped by Morgan’s mother’s home during this hour, where Morgan was staying for vacation. Conveniently, both were in the area during the attacks, and both met on multiple occasions.” Emily just nodded, mouth slightly agape as she took in the information. “Now you see?”</p><p>     “So, what are you saying, Doctor? You think this is some sort of coup?”</p><p>     Dr. Finn swiped his tongue over his lips and didn’t respond directly as he turned the recording back on and directed, “Tell me about the second attack. Nine were killed.”</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     <em> “This wasn’t a solitary attack after all,” Emily sighed, scanning the bar with her hands on her hips. Splayed across the tables and counters were nine victims, all showing signs of poisoning. “I hate to say it, but this UNSUB is on a mission—and not just that; he’s on a spree. He might even be counting down from ten to one.” </em></p><p>
  <em>      Beside her, Spencer gave a noncommittal hum and tugged at his collar, looking unreasonably anxious. Not only that, he seemed as if he hadn’t slept at all; shadows were painted under his eyes and every so often, they would close, head dipping slightly under the weight of obvious insomnia. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Reid?” Emily prompted. “You see anything?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer got to his feet and looked around a little bit. “You might be right,” he finally said, his voice soft and strained. “But something’s off.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “How so?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I’m not sure, but maybe it’s the fact that all these victims are men?” Spencer proposed, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of himself. He bent down by one of the bodies slumped over the bar and glanced up at one of the officers. “Did any women come here often?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “No, sir,” the officer replied. “This was a real masculine place.” He paused, giving Spencer a once-over before offering, “You want some water?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      This didn’t seem to help Spencer’s jittery manner; in fact, Emily thought that if anything, he seemed worse than before. Without a confirmation, Spencer took a few unsteady steps backwards and picked through the forensics to head back to Emily, eyes trained on the ground and breaths coming out short and fast. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “You okay?” Emily asked quietly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer swallowed. “I’m fine. I’m—um—sorry.” He looked around a little before breaking from his spot, moving briskly towards the back door, mumbling over his shoulder, “Just need some air.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      When he hadn’t returned for some time, Emily ventured through the back door, seeing that it led to an alley. But Spencer wasn’t anywhere to be seen. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Reid?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Nothing. Emily jogged a few yards before spotting him crouched by the side of a building, a hand pressed against the brick wall. She hurried over. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Get back!” Spencer shouted before she got close, holding one hand out. “Get—get back. Um.” He stood up and messed with something Emily couldn’t see before moving back towards her, a stumble in his step. “It’s fine. Did you learn anything new?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “No,” Emily replied slowly, looking him up and down. “Let’s bring this back to the team. We need the tox reports on everyone before we know if this is our UNSUB.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “UNSUB,” Spencer echoed, eyes unfocused. He nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Before Emily could reply, he had already staggered back to the SUV. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     “I understand Dr. Reid had some issues with paranoia during this investigation,” Dr. Finn noted, though his voice was anything but gentle. “Tell me about that.”</p><p>     Luke stiffened. “He wasn’t paranoid.”</p><p>     “Oh?” Dr. Finn leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, peering over the edge of his glasses like a cross librarian. “Didn’t you voice your concern over the state of his hotel room?”</p><p>     “I said I was concerned,” Luke agreed, “but I didn’t think he was being paranoid. And even if he was, he had every right to be.”</p><p>     “For all the wrong reasons.”</p><p>     Luke exhaled through his nostrils and didn’t reply. Dr. Finn went in for the kill.</p><p>     “Reasons that you knew of, and that you have yet to confess to me. Why is that?”</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     <em> JJ and Matt entered the room with files in their hands, looking grim. </em></p><p>
  <em>      “We were right,” JJ declared, tossing her own folders onto the table. “This wasn’t opportunistic. Some of the beat cops just confirmed that each one of these poisons had significant meaning to its victim.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Rossi exhaled, placing both hands on the table. “So we got ourselves an UNSUB with extensive knowledge on each of his victims. He’s like an assassin, the way he’s slamming these people.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “He might be,” Luke agreed, “but I checked with Kevin, and there is zero dirt on any of our vics. Nothing digital, anyway.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “If he’s counting down from ten to one,” Tara chimed in, “this might mean that he’s got an endgame. Maybe he’s working up the ladder to get to the real object of his rage.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Then these people have to mean something,” Matt countered. “It’s not like he’s choosing random people, finding information on them, and killing them for the fun of it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Unless he is,” Emily announced, meeting them in the room with Spencer trailing close behind. “He knows the FBI is here; we’re on the news. The fact that he keeps killing speaks to his arrogance.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Or his psychosis,” JJ countered. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Rossi shook his head. “There’s no disorganization to any of this.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I’m starting to think we’ve got multiple UNSUBS, personally,” JJ murmured, crossing her arms. “It’s near impossible for a single—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “It’s one UNSUB,” Spencer interrupted firmly. Everyone turned to give him a questioning look, and he lifted his head, looking vaguely disheveled in a way none of them could decipher. “I know it’s one UNSUB.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Are you sure?” Matt pressed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I’m positive,” Spencer declared, crossing his arms. “In fact, I think we’re ready for the profile.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>·································</p><p> </p><p>     JJ shook her head, biting her lip as she contemplated all of this. “You’re asking me to betray my teammates,” she whispered. “I can’t—you can’t seriously be asking me to do this.”</p><p>     “Your teammates may be responsible for the deaths of over fifty people,” Dr. Finn reminded her. “Surely you can see the greater good in all of this.”</p><p>     JJ still looked hesitant, and didn’t respond, just nodded slowly.</p><p>     “I’m so sorry, Agent,” Dr. Finn murmured, clasping his fingers and looking genuine. He ran his tongue over his teeth behind closed lips, debating whether or not to push his order. Instead, he decided to ask, “What was your profile?”</p><p>     “Our first one?”</p><p>     “Your first one.” Back was the interrogative manner JJ was starting to become familiar with. “We’ll get to the second one later, but for now...what did Dr. Reid believe was going on? Or,” Dr. Finn added, “what did he <em> tell </em>you he believed?”</p><p>     The rain continued to fall. JJ gave him the first profile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>...the profile that will be given in the next chapter!</p><p>Hey there! Long time no see! The chapters have had long breaks, and I’m sorry to keep you waiting; however, things are definitely going to happen a little quicker now that I’m done with my other series and nearing winter break. Hope you still stick around!</p><p>So, Dr. Finn has given some guys a different list of agents that he believes are convoluting...is he suspicious? Are the agents suspicious? If so, which ones are the real imposters? Tell me what you think! It really helps to write chapters when I read predictions.</p><p>As always, thanks for reading :) And thanks to AppalachianApologies for always being the one I go to for screaming about plot holes and such ahahahaha</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. On Impostors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>     “We’re looking for a white male anywhere between the ages of thirty to fifty,” Matt began. Off the skeptical looks given by the entire police department, he clarified, “Now, age is the hardest thing to predict in a profile, so just because someone is out of the range I gave you doesn’t mean he isn’t your UNSUB.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     Dr. Finn paused in the profile to note, “You were at the precinct with Agents Jareau and Lewis.” He gestured vaguely to the air, eyebrows furrowed as he implored, “Where was the rest of your team?”</p><p>     “The station wasn’t the only place we had to give the profile,” Matt explained, his expression remaining neutral. “We split up; Agents Alvez and Prentiss went back to the bar and the festival; and Agent Rossi and Agent Reid spoke to the hospitals and morgues around the city.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn pursed his lips for a moment; then, deciding he had nothing to argue against, he nodded for Matt to continue.</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     “In this investigation, race is as hard to predict,” Emily said, sweeping her gaze around the room. For a major crime scene, the bar was surprisingly well-occupied. Business had ticked back to life as soon as the tape and officers were removed and the evidence was processed, and now, a few men nursed their evening drinks as they eavesdropped. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “The reason we think he’s white is because this bar is predominantly white,” Alvez continued. “To poison so many people, he’d have to blend in.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “But he wouldn’t be a walk-in or tourist,” Emily added. “For an attack like this, he’s incredibly sophisticated and organized—he’d need a controlled environment.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>      “This is a man with intelligence,” Rossi went on, speaking quieter as other doctors passed by. “He’s got enough experience to concoct these drugs alone, and he knows them well, but not well enough to know how they react with each other or how much is needed per person.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer nodded his agreement, staring off slightly at some doctors who passed by before saying, “He’s worked somewhere in the scientific field; probably the medical field—think an intern or student.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “He would have been fired for abrasivity; a poor bedside manner; maybe even stealing chemicals. This UNSUB is an injustice collector—he stocks up on everyone who’s wronged him and lashes out.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>      “Which means the victims are all connected somehow,” JJ acknowledged, “and our UNSUB knew them all, one way or another. Problem is, we don’t know how yet.” </em>
</p><p><em>      “What we </em> do <em> know,” Tara chimed in quickly, before any comments could be made about the statement, “is that he’s also a sadist. Most of the time, poisoners don’t derive pleasure from their kills—it’s quick, detached, efficient—but because he’s targeting these victims because of how they led their lives, we think the UNSUB sticks around to watch his victims suffer because of what he believes is a self-inflicted punishment.” </em></p><p>
  <em>      Matt folded his arms over his chest, looking grave as he admitted, “As of right now, we’re unsure as to what he believes these victims are being punished for, and this UNSUB will strike again until he’s finished his task—killers like these often publish manifestos or blogs documenting their schemes.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “That’ll be all for now,” JJ announced with a small smile, before adamantly requesting, “and do not leak any of this to the media! His reaction to the attention is as unpredictable as his true motive.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     Dr. Finn’s expression was a mixture of disappointment and approval; a combination Rossi only ever saw in Strauss. It was as if he had accepted both how disastrous things had gone and the lack of control the team had during the mayhem. That didn’t stop him, however, from pressing Rossi, “How was Dr. Reid during the first profile? Did anything particularly unusual occur?”</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     “Something was...off,” Tara admitted, “when Reid and Rossi returned from the hospital. It might have been nothing, but—” She started to look as if she regretted agreeing with Dr. Finn, but there was no going back now—and this was a recorded interview; lying would do no one any good—so she continued. “It was as if there was something there.”</p><p>     “Something,” Dr. Finn supplied, “as in, something they were hiding?”</p><p>     In return, he received the smallest of nods.</p><p>     </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     <em>Dr. Leming looked slightly defeated when he confessed, “I’m sorry, no one’s coming to mind.” </em></p><p>
  <em>      “That’s alright,” Spencer replied with a smile, rummaging through his inner breast pocket before producing a card. “If you do think of anything, don’t hesitate to call.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Dr. Leming took it with a nod, tucking the card in his pocket before turning back to the ward he was doing his shift in. Rossi and Spencer took their time heading down the stairs and out the doors of the hospital, back to the SUV. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      As they did so, Rossi murmured, “Something isn’t sitting right with me.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer’s voice was strained as he replied, “We gave him the profile; all we do now is wait and hope that someone finds this UNSUB before he strikes again.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “But that’s just it,” Rossi mused, sliding into the driver’s seat. “The profile sounds contradictory to what we saw at the crime scenes.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer hummed slightly, cracking open the cap of a water bottle and drinking slowly. Rossi took a sip from his own and Spencer paused, staring at it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Where did you get that?” he whispered. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Rossi swallowed and screwed the cap back on. “The hospital staff.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Who?” Spencer demanded, his voice picking up. He struggled to unbuckle his seatbelt and jumped out of the car, hurrying back across the parking lot without bothering to slam his door shut. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      With a confused shout, Rossi exited the car as well, catching up to him just before they got to the doors and grabbing hold of his arm. “Reid, what the hell—Reid?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer looked absolutely distraught as he tugged away from Rossi and asked again, voice trembling, “Who gave you that? Who, specifically, who?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Rossi furrowed his brow, keeping his hand on Spencer’s arm as he replied, “A nurse. She had, um—brown hair; last name was Jackson. She was just offering me her extra with some of her colleagues.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Her colleagues,” Spencer echoed to himself, growing increasingly agitated. “Her—Rossi—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      He seemed clearly conflicted, stuck in deciding whether he wanted to rush into the hospital. Taking the opportunity to steer him away, Rossi slid one arm around his shoulders and pulled him back in the direction of the car, considerably confused. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     Rossi’s voice was level as he answered, “We thought that the profile was a little bit askew. Spencer jumped out of the car because he thought he saw someone that the doctor mentioned earlier, but it turns out, it was all a misunderstanding.”</p><p>     “A misunderstanding,” Dr. Finn muttered, obviously not believing a word of it. “Just to be clear, Agent Rossi, you’re telling me there was <em> nothing </em> wrong with Spencer in the hospital or on the way back?”</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     Spencer didn’t buckle his seatbelt even after they started driving, choosing instead to bury his head on top of his knees and breathe deeply. Before either of them could think, Rossi pulled to a stop just outside the precinct and reached out to tap him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Reid.” Nothing. “Spencer.” Spencer remained curled. Rossi sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Carjackers be damned; we’re staying here until you tell me what the hell is going on.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer raised himself back up,  hesitated, then leaned over the cup holders as he suddenly jerked forward to hug Rossi with a sob. Startled, Rossi gave him a few awkward pats on the back before pulling away. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “What’s wrong?” he asked gently. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer’s voice was wobbly when he mumbled, “I can’t do it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Rossi furrowed his brow. “Can’t do what?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Without a reply, Spencer opened the car door and walked back into the station. Rossi followed, equally confused, and not noticing until later that the water bottle he grabbed on the way was not the same one the hospital gave him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     “Nope,” Rossi replied smoothly, “nothing was wrong.”</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     Dr. Finn was looking disgruntled as Emily was explaining her profile, and as soon as she finished, he stated, “I have the second profile here, Agent. Do you know how different it is?”</p><p>     “I do,” Emily replied, starting to lose some of the stoicism she had managed.</p><p>     “Would you like me to read it?”</p><p>     “I already know what it says.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn raised his eyebrows, tapping his pencil on the table to the beat of his reading; his eyes skimmed over the sheet of paper he held in his hand, out of Emily’s sight. “How come you missed so much information?”</p><p>     “On behalf of my team,” Emily explained, “I would like to point out that most things in the second profile are the same. The UNSUB had extensive scientific experience, he worked alone, he was a white male in his thirties, he was paranoid, and he showed a zealous interest in the case. The things we got wrong were the fact that the victims were related, that this was one man, that the amount of knowledge the UNSUB had, and the injustice collector.”</p><p>     “That last part would have been right, though,” Dr. Finn ventured.</p><p>     Emily didn’t flinch. “No, it wasn’t.”</p><p>     “Oh?”</p><p>     “Our UNSUB wasn’t an injustice collector.”</p><p>     As the conversation went on, Emily was starting to notice something about Dr. Finn; the professionalism he had been careful to manifest was starting to ebb with the more questions he asked.</p><p>     And on his end, Dr. Finn was watching Emily. She had a neat way of dodging questions by raising others and curtly answering in a different way. The more he pressed, the more she solidified; fashioning answers for questions five steps ahead.</p><p>     Both knew the other was holding back about something.</p><p>     Dr. Finn said, “I’ll ask again: would you like me to read the second profile?”</p><p>     Emily replied, “Of course.”</p><p>     They stared at each other for a long few seconds before the paper was actually read aloud.</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     “I think about it almost constantly,” JJ confessed, holding her forehead in her hands. “How...how we could miss this. How different the profile was.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn kept his distance, giving her a moment to collect himself before saying, “He had you fooled.”</p><p>     “He <em> shouldn’t </em> have,” JJ argued, glancing up with a ferocity Dr. Finn was unfamiliar with. She squeezed the edge of the table. “I’ve known Spence for <em> fifteen years. </em>Somehow, someway, I’ve always been able to figure out what was wrong with him.”</p><p>     “You <em> were </em> able to do that, Agent Jareau,” Dr. Finn assured her, pausing for a moment before adding, “just not until now.”</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     “Yeah, the second profile,” Luke acknowledged bitterly. The interrogation was starting to drain him; there was only so much fight he had in him left. “We all know what we wrote down.”</p><p>     Nonetheless, Dr. Finn held up the sheet and read aloud. “The UNSUB is the leader of an organization we now know as—”</p><p>     “Stop,” Luke interrupted firmly. Dr. Finn closed his mouth. “I said, we all know what we wrote down.”</p><p>     “I was simply—”</p><p>     “Harassing me,” Luke snapped, “trying to get me to break and confess something, right? We’re just going to go back and forth until I spit something good out. That’s your game, isn’t it?”</p><p>     Dr. Finn’s eyes were cold when he implored, “Do you <em> have </em> anything to confess?”</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     “I don’t,” Matt retaliated, equally calm as he bounced off and asked, “Do you?”</p><p>     Dr. Finn frowned. “Do I what?”</p><p>     “Have anything to confess?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry I haven’t been regularly updating. I was struggling with a lack of motivation for the past few days, and I’d like to say I’m back on track, but unfortunately, I’m getting the feeling that my updates won’t be scheduled. I hope you enjoyed this chapter nonetheless, however!</p><p>Also, a check-in: How are the chapter lengths? Do you feel like the story is going too fast or slow? Please let me know so I can make changes if needed. Have a happy new year!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. On Departures</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     It seemed as if the rain paused in its thrumming as Dr. Finn absorbed the accusation. </p><p>     Matt remained stone-faced, unmoving as he watched his interrogator sit back in his seat with a disbelieving smile, shaking his head. He folded his arms, eyes flicking up and down Matt’s posture before swiveling in his chair a little bit.</p><p>     “Are you serious?” he scoffed after a moment, his tone light, but on edge. When he received no response, he leaned back forward, balancing his elbows on the desk, over the paperwork. “Agent Simmons—”</p><p>     “Answer the question,” Matt interrupted, folding his own arms in turn. “As far as I can tell, the only thing you’ve been doing here is answering your own questions and trying to get us to trip up and confess something we’ve never done. Am I right?”</p><p>     Dr. Finn held up his finger to quiet him, then punched it against his chest as he shot back, <em> “I’m </em> asking the questions here, Agent.” His lips pressed together into an intense line; his eyes were hard. “<em>You’re </em> the one under investigation here.”</p><p>     Matt tilted his head, clearly not intimidated. “You know what we call that?” He paused, smiling slightly, taking in the facts silently as his gaze wandered over Dr. Finn’s expression. </p><p>     Dr. Finn, on his end, looked as if his cracked smile threatening to split the lower half of his face. “What?”</p><p>     “A non-denial denial.”</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>      “You’ve got to be kidding me,” JJ groaned the next morning, shutting off the TV with a frustrated sigh. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Next to her, Emily’s mouth twisted. “Can you really blame them?” she pointed out on behalf of the reporter that had occupied the screen, blaring the title POUR DECISIONS: POISONING COUP AT LARGE? “If I were a woman living here and hopping bars, I’d be freaking out.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      JJ rubbed her temple with one hand and used the other to reach out and slide a coffee towards her chest. “I guess you’re right. A proper press conference could have been issued before things got out of control, though. Now the station’s going to be swarming with media, civilians…whoa.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Emily turned around to see Rossi standing in the doorway, looking disheveled as he checked his watch and ambled over to the table. “Rough night?” she guessed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Where’s Reid?” Tara asked, standing up to hand him a fresh coffee. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Kid’s not feeling too hot,” Rossi replied, accepting it with quiet thanks and sliding into his seat. “I told him to take his time; he should be coming in later.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Soon, I hope,” Emily murmured, half to herself. She gestured to the files spread across the table. “I hate to push him, but we’ve got a killer on our hands.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Reid’s out?” Luke commented by way of greeting, strolling in the conference room. “Yeah, he’s been looking pretty worn recently.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “You sure he’s back to normal?” JJ couldn’t help but mention. “It’s just—I don’t know. I know it’s been a few months, but I can’t…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Emily nodded, understanding. “He wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think he wasn’t ready,” she assured her. “Even so,” she added, with a nod at Rossi, “I’ll let him take it easy. Just in case.” She took a moment for everyone to look satisfied before turning back to the TV. “In the meantime, let’s figure out how to handle the flood.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     “Who do you think leaked that information to the press?” Dr. Finn mused, already formulating his own answer.</p><p>     “It wasn’t Reid, if that’s what you mean,” Rossi replied, failing to keep the bite out of his voice.</p><p>     Dr. Finn dropped the subject, choosing instead to fire from another angle. “Dr. Reid was...sick? Is that correct?” Not waiting for an answer, he took out another sheet of paper—Rossi was starting to get sick of watching him pull out files. “A hotel guest spotted you entering his room in the middle of the night.”</p><p>     “Hm,” Rossi remarked, stroking his chin in mock confusion, “perhaps you’re right. Maybe I should have left my colleague and <em> friend </em>—who, by the way, just got over a traumatic brain injury—alone in his room, where I could hear him vomiting his guts up. How silly of me.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn rubbed the bridge of his nose, not bothering to take off his glasses. “Agent,” he warned, but there wasn’t much depth in it. Moving on, he added, “Later in the day, you disappeared with Dr. Reid for most of the evening. Skipped dinner, stayed in the same hotel room...anything particularly helpful show up?”</p><p>     “Maybe I should have saved the Tylenol he chugged in an evidence bag for you,” Rossi snapped. “And before you ask,” he added, sensing the question, “He didn’t let me in the bathroom. He didn’t let me touch anything.”</p><p>     “How convenient,” Dr. Finn replied, with as much venom in his tone, “that you had absolutely no clue what was going on.”</p><p>     Rossi raised his right hand as if he was swearing an oath in court. “Scout’s honor, Doc.”</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>      “Hey, nice of you to…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      The words died in Luke’s throat almost immediately after Spencer entered the room a few hours later, stumbling into a chair without seeming to hear the greeting. Digging in his bag for a few minutes, he pulled out a few books and a small stack of files before muttering something about forgetting his phone. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “...join us,” Luke finished awkwardly, exchanging an awkward glance with Emily. His brow furrowed. “You okay?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “No,” Spencer responded flatly, his words slightly slurred. He dug the heel of his palm into his eye, pointing his next sentence to Emily: “How’d the press conference go?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Deciding not to press on it, Emily replied, “As you’d expect. People are coming through the floorboards with reports about sketchy white men from bars. One of them was you,” she added, with a small smirk. “I think it was from when we gave the profile yesterday.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer didn’t laugh; in fact, he paled slightly at the comment, sweat beading his hairline. “I’m gonna go get some air,” he mumbled, gesturing to the glass doors, but as soon as he stood up, he wavered on his feet, and warning bells went off in Emily’s head. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Maybe you should—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Before she could get the full sentence out, Spencer reached out to grab her shoulder just as his knees buckled. Cursing slightly—but unsurprised—Emily grabbed his elbow and guided him the short distance to the floor, keeping one hand on Spencer’s back as he fumbled for a solid grip. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Sit down—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I’m okay,” Spencer breathed, shaky but firm. He folded his head on top of his knees and tucked his hands out of sight. Emily closed her mouth and exchanged a glance with Luke and Rossi over his head, all unsure how to proceed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Just hold on a second,” she decided on saying, “take it easy. Catch your breath.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Spencer nodded, hands shaking. “Will do.” After a few moments, however, he made a move to stand up and kept a firm grip on the edge of the table. “I don’t feel good,” he admitted. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Luke put a placating hand on his shoulder, flashing a few silent words to Emily with his eyes before suggesting, “I’ll take you to the hotel.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I can do it,” Rossi offered. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I got it,” Luke assured him smoothly, keeping his hand where it was as he tugged him towards the doors. Spencer complied with a final apologetic glance over his shoulder, accepting the support and dragging his feet to the car. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Worth a shot,” Rossi sighed, watching them go. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     “Read this,” Dr. Finn directed.<br/><br/></p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>EMILY PRENTISS ⮕ L.R.</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>September 18, 2020     12:15 PM (CT)</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Pharmacy. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>     Emily sucked in a breath. “Oh,” she couldn’t help but say.</p><p>     “Oh,” Dr. Finn agreed, watching her carefully. “You do know who ‘L.R.’ is?”</p><p>     “I do.”</p><p>     “Clyde Easter from Interpol, correct?”</p><p>     “Yes.”</p><p>     “Now, then,” Dr. Finn went on, starting to look satisfied, “what was Dr. Reid doing in contact with Easter? From what I’ve gathered, he isn’t exactly...trustworthy.”</p><p>     That was a step too far. “I trust Clyde with my life,” Emily snapped. “I <em> have </em>trusted him.”</p><p>     “You do?” Dr. Finn shook his head, fiddling with the pen in his hands. “And how are you so sure that Easter wasn’t on the…” He searched for the right word. <em> “...opposite </em>side of this case? Of this ‘pharmacy’?”</p><p>     Emily couldn’t bring herself to respond. With a nod, Dr. Finn continued.</p><p>     “You didn’t know Spencer sent this text while you were otherwise distracted?”</p><p>     “No,” Emily sighed, her voice quieter, starting to lose confidence. “He must have deleted it.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn blinked, the ghost of a smile tracing his lips. “How unfortunate,” he commented softly, before stretching out his fingers and moving to another point of interest. “If you were ignorant before, I have a feeling that what happened next aided that.”</p><p>     Emily glared, but didn’t respond.</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     Luke looked drained, balancing his head in his hands. “It all happened so fast,” he murmured.</p><p> </p><p>································</p><p> </p><p>     <em>“Agent Prentiss,” a breathless officer called, leaning on the doorframe to catch his breath, “there’s someone here to see you.” </em></p><p>
  <em>      Emily sighed, tossing her pencil across the desk in frustration. “If it’s the media—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “It’s Agent Morgan.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      The table fell quiet, confusion muddling everyone’s muscle memory for a moment. Before anyone could voice their questions, Morgan strode into the conference room, looking deeply concerned. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      JJ was the first to speak, surprise lacing her amused laugh. “Derek, my God—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Where’s Reid?” Morgan demanded, uncharacteristically worried. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Emily raised her eyebrows. “He’s been sick, actually. Do you want to stop by the hotel—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Listen,” Morgan interrupted, holding up his hand, “I’m really sorry for barging in like this, but there’s something messed up going on.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “...What?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Before Morgan could explain, Emily’s phone buzzed from a small corner of the room, half-tucked underneath the couch. She didn’t remember dropping it. “Hello?” </em>
</p><p>     “It’s Luke. Listen, you gotta get over here.”</p><p>     <em>“What? Why?” Too many things were going on at once; Emily was torn between hearing what Morgan had to say and what Luke had to say. Both were about Spencer, though, so she opted to turn the phone on speaker and set it in the center of the table. “You’re with all of us and Morgan.” </em></p><p><em>      Without commenting on the new arrival, Luke cut to the chase; it sounded like he was running. </em>“Reid’s gone.”</p><p>     <em>“What did you say?” </em></p><p>“I don’t—I don’t know!” <em> Luke exclaimed, stress making his voice tight. </em>“I thought he was—that he needed—shit, Emily, he’s gone, and I have no idea where he went.”</p><p>     <em>Emily whipped over to Morgan, jamming an accusatory finger in his direction. “Explain. Now.” </em></p><p>
  <em>      Morgan looked surprisingly helpless. “Shit,” he murmured. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “‘Shit’?” JJ scoffed, running her hand through her hair. “No, no ‘shit’, Derek, what happened?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Morgan scrubbed his hands across his face, expression pinched. “It’s about the poisoning.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Oh, God,” Tara murmured, guessing where this was heading. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Morgan nodded. “The one from two weeks ago, I saw the news and thought—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Hold up,” Emily interrupted, rotating her finger to backtrack him. “Two weeks ago?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “He was with me two weeks ago,” Morgan explained, furrowing his brow. “You didn’t—he didn’t tell you?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Rossi chewed on the inside of his cheek. Emily put her hands on her hips, the distress starting to bubble over. “What the hell is going on?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Morgan seemed overwhelmed, too, but nonetheless, he began to explain: “I think there’s something wrong with Reid.” </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The events in this chapter might feel a little rushed, I’m sorry about that!! And also sorry about how long that took. I was kind of struggling with burnout, and I can’t promise the next updates will be quick (or very good, for that matter), but the story is picking up—we’re nearing the end of part 1–so I’m really thankful for your patience!! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. On Arrivals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     “We need to know everything about Spencer,” Dr. Finn ordered, jamming his index finger against the desktop to emphasize his words. “Everything from Chicago. The truth.”</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>      “He just walked in one day,” Morgan explained, running his hands across his scalp. “I was at my sister’s place, and he just...walked in.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>   “He ‘walked in’?” Dr. Finn scoffed, rising out of his seat to pace behind the desk with his hands on his hips, clearly flustered. He turned to Emily, who looked as if she was trying hard not to join him in standing. “Did you know anything about this?”</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>      “No—no,” JJ stammered, slightly caught off guard. She looked imploringly at Luke, who just shook his head, clearly trying to contact Spencer in some way as he moved to a corner of the room with his phone. “We didn’t know. He was still on leave—I thought he was busy teaching.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     “So you knew of no specific motive.”</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>      “Only that he was looking.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     “Looking for what, exactly?”</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>      Morgan held their gazes as he explained, “He said he was looking for ‘them’. They, um…” He paused, looking pained. “He said they stole his mind.”</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>     It was Morgan who spoke first when Spencer showed up at his door: “Nice to...see you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Who is it?” Sarah called from the kitchen, sticking her head in. “Hey, Spencer.”      </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Reid?” Morgan prompted. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer’s mouth opened for a moment, but then he just swallowed and shook his head, arms hanging limp at his sides. His eyes were dull, but his pupils… </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “Get in here,” Morgan ordered, grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him into the house. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer didn’t react as he was manhandled across the house and up the stairs, no when Morgan pushed him firmly onto the bed and crouched down in front of him, searching his face. “Reid.” He snapped his fingers in front of his face, to no avail. “Can you hear me?” Finally, hazy eyes floated over to him. “Okay, good. I need to ask you something.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer nodded once in confirmation before the question could even be asked; barely moving his head. His expression remained flat as Morgan patted him down and dug through his bag before closing his fingers around something in the outermost pocket. He brought it into the open and held it in front of their faces. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     “What happened?” Morgan asked, softly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spencer swayed slightly. His words were slurred. “I have to stop it.” </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>     Everyone deflated, suddenly quiet. It was Tara who asked for the others—“What was in that vial?”—but in response, Morgan only folded his arms and looked over to JJ, which served as enough of an answer.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     “Not a schizophrenic break, then,” Dr. Finn commented softly, returning to his seat.</p><p>     Rossi let out a harsh exhale, drumming his fingers atop the desk. “No.”</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>      “Agent Prentiss?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Emily turned around, chewed fingers quickly tucking into her pocket. An officer was making his way over, a small bouquet in his hands. “This just came for you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Oh.” She accepted them. “Who dropped them off?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I dunno, some guy. Brown hair. Gray coat. He just came up to the desk and walked out.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Everyone exchanged panicked glances. “Where’d he go?” Rossi demanded, throwing on a coat. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      The officer stammered. “Um, left. Downtown.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Emily nodded, setting the flowers on the table. “Tara, get that to the lab,” she ordered, then pointed to Luke. “Head downtown.” Addressing everyone else, she added, “Rossi, go to the hotel and ask around; everyone else, keep working the case. We’ve still got a killer to catch.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Oh, God,” JJ murmured, looking down at her phone. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “What?” Emily snapped, getting tired of the sudden changes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “It’s about the case.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Emily didn’t need an explanation. “How many?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Eight. At the same bar, too. He’s counting down.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     Dr. Finn fiddled with his pen. “So, Spencer was high, missing...and you didn’t connect that to anything? Even after Mr. Morgan’s story?”</p><p>     “There was too much going on,” JJ sighed, scrubbing her hands over her face. “The case alone was nothing we’d seen before. We needed all hands on deck, and Spencer just seemed…”</p><p>     She swallowed a moment, not bringing herself to say it. Dr. Finn did, though: “Like an addict. Delusional.” He received a small nod, and he returned the gesture before adding, “He had you fooled.”</p><p>     “But he didn’t,” JJ pointed out, sitting up straight. “You know what we found in the...um. Yeah.”</p><p>     “No, I’m not arguing with that,” Dr. Finn said, placing the pen on his desk. “I’m talking about the delusional part. Your profile said the UNSUB was methodical; organized. Cold. Not delusional.”</p><p>     JJ only looked down at her lap.</p><p>     “You see what I’m getting at here, then?”</p><p>     Another nod.</p><p>     Dr. Finn chewed on the inside of his cheek, mulling something over.  After a moment, he mused, “That phone call to Dr. Lewis didn’t help matters either, did it?”</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     <em> “Belladonna?” Tara murmured, poring over the lab analysis. She looked up at the tech, who nodded grimly. “And you don’t know where it’s from?” </em></p><p>
  <em>      “Europe,” the tech answered, “but it could have been purchased at any time, and there are so many treatments on the petals that it’s hard to find a location.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Thank you.” Someone started to call her; her phone buzzed in her pocket. “Excuse me.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      She left the lab with the document in her hands, tugging her phone from her pocket and then pausing in the hall when she saw that the Caller ID was blocked. Paranoid from her recent discovery, she motioned for Matt. “I need Kevin on this immediately for a trap and trace. Someone’s calling me.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Got it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      The call went unanswered, so the line ended itself, but a few minutes later, Tara and Matt were sitting at the table together; the former answering her phone; the latter putting Kevin on speaker. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Tara answered the call. “Who is this?” </em>
</p><p>     “There are eight.”</p><p>
  <em>      She knew that voice. “Reid?” Tara asked. </em>
</p><p><em>      After a moment, the caller whispered, </em> “I’m so sorry.” </p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     “You were on the phone with him for enough time,” Dr. Finn murmured, hands folded to match Tara’s position on the other side of the desk. “Why didn’t you get an exact location?”</p><p>     She shrugged. “Kevin had a feeling he was underground somewhere. It was hard to match the phone to cell towers, and it was a burner, at that. Likely, Dr. Reid was going to throw the phone away after making the call, and he did.”</p><p>     “Do you want to know what I think?”</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     “No,” Luke muttered.</p><p>     Dr. Finn ignored the comment. “Look at that transcript. Pay attention to the words.”</p><p>     “I’m not an analyst, sir.”</p><p>     “You actually are, Agent. Take a look.”</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>SSA DR. TARA LEWIS [L]:</b> Who is this?</p>
  <p><b>SSA DR. SPENCER REID [R.]:</b> There are eight.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> Reid?</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> I’m so sorry.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> What are you sorry for? What is it?</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> There’s eight this time.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> Another murder. We know. [...] How do you know, Reid?</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> I got flowers. They...they said I—I know I shouldn’t have, but I did. I’m sorry.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> Spencer, I’m not understanding you. What is wrong? I promise, we can help you.</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> You can’t. You can’t. They know. They took my head.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> Your head?</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> And they said I shouldn’t have, but I did. I did. I’m sorry, I got—I think I got too away from it. Too...away? Deep. Too deep. I got too deep, too far...I’m sorry. I just wanted them to stop.</p>
  <p><b>L: </b>Who are you talking about?</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> I’m going to do it, like they said. I’m sorry.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> Who are “they”? Did someone talk to you?</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> No one’s talking to me. I just hear it. [...] Tara, I’m losing it. I don’t—can’t think. Can’t...my head hurts. So bad. It’s not even real.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> Come back to us, then. We can get you some help. We can—</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> No. No, no, no, no, no. Nobody. Nobody has to know.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> We do. That’s what a team does. We help you.</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> I don’t want help.</p>
  <p><b>L: </b>Spencer, you need it.</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> I don’t want help. They have help. Five of them. You’re part of it, now. </p>
  <p><b>L:</b> Part of what?</p>
  <p><b>R: </b>I don’t want to have to stop you, Tara. I’m sorry.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> Stop me from what? I’m in the precinct, on the phone with you. Where are you?</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> Are you with them? Is that—is that who sent you?</p>
  <p><b>L: </b>Sent me where?</p>
  <p><b>R: </b>Here! Here. You shouldn’t have come, and now I have to go. Down. </p>
  <p><b>L:</b> Don’t go, Spencer. Stay with me. Morgan said someone stole your mind. Who was it?</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> Oh, Morgan? He didn’t get it. Do you get it?</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> Get what?</p>
  <p><b>R: </b>I’m going the other way. You just have to listen here. To the flowers. I’m sorry, they weren’t yours.</p>
  <p><b>L: </b>Do you know who sent us flowers?</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> He did.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> He? The UNSUB?</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> No. He’s with me. Talking to me. I’ll talk to him.</p>
  <p><b>L: </b>Is the UNSUb with you?</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> No. I don’t know. Emily knows. Check back on it, by the couch. [...] Let me handle this.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> Tell me where you are, so I can come if you need it.</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> I can’t stop. I stopped five. There’s still five.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> What can’t you stop?</p>
  <p><b>R: </b>Them! Them; I told you, it’s them. And me.</p>
  <p><b>L: </b>I don’t know who the “them” is, Spencer.</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> The pharmacy! There’s five of them. Five of them, in all of them, are doing this. I have to end all of them.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> Spencer, I’m sorry. I don’t understand you.</p>
  <p><b>R:</b> I shouldn’t say...ask L.R. [UNKNOWN] about it. The couch? Only after, though. Did Rossi get it yet? He knows.</p>
  <p><b>L: </b>Get what? What does Rossi know?</p>
  <p><b>R: </b>Don’t go.</p>
  <p><b>L:</b> I’m not going anywhere. [...] Spencer? [...] Spencer. Are you still there?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     “In layman’s terms, he sounded delusional, paranoid, and insane,” Dr. Finn stated bluntly.</p><p>     Matt looked annoyed, but he nodded. “He did.”</p><p>     “But he wasn’t.”</p><p>     “We didn’t know that until later.”</p><p>     “How later?” Dr. Finn asked, his tone light, but betraying a sense of scorn. “When Agents Jareau and Prentiss spoke to the bar owner for the second time? When you cleared out the hotel room?” Matt started to speak, but he continued. “Your team didn’t seem to have noticed anything was amiss until it slapped you in the face. Do you know what that sounds like? It sounds like you were ignoring the problem—the <em> killer— </em>that was right in front of you.”</p><p>     Matt took in a deep breath, keeping his cool. “Killers,” he said quietly.</p><p>     “I’m sorry?”</p><p>     “I said, ‘killers.’ <em> You </em> seem to have ignored the fact that there was more than one.”</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     <em> “Poison, again. This is weird, though,” the ME announced, tapping her clipboard. “I didn’t start all the autopsies yet, but I did take tox scans of every victim first. There’s no variation.” </em></p><p>
  <em>      JJ furrowed her brow, peering over at the report. “What do you mean?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I mean, three victims had hydrofluoric acid in their...well, as you can see, their eyes. The other five had potassium cyanide, but that was likely ingested, like the others.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “What does that mean?” JJ wondered aloud, turning to Emily. “There’s no merit involved. And obviously,” she added, gesturing to the three bodies, “the MO’s off.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “A change in signature,” Emily agreed, equally confused. “What caused it?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      JJ thought for a moment. “Maybe these victims are different,” she offered. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Emily started to nod. “If we could figure out what each poison means, we could learn something new about our UNSUB.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Another thing,” the ME piped up, sliding over a cart. “The five victims—these were in their pockets at the scene of the crime.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      JJ furrowed her brow. “Those are the same flowers…” Her eyes widened. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “That I got,” Emily finished quietly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Looking startled for a moment, the ME added, “There’s something else.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I’m really hating this investigation.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Well, these victims weren’t killed at the bar. Based on time of death, I’d say they were hours dead before the killer took them to the bar.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      JJ looked at Emily, agitated. “Yeah, I’m not liking this, either. Let’s go to that bar.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     “You were in the lecture hall,” Dr. Finn remarked, “yet, you didn’t see the potassium cyanide connection?”</p><p>     Emily frowned. “The <em> lecture </em> I barely heard from <em> days </em> ago wasn’t exactly on my mind,” she scoffed.</p><p>     Dr. Finn wasn't convinced. “Back to Dr. Lewis’s phone call. Spencer said…‘Emily knows. Check back on it, by the couch...ask L-R about it. Only after, though.’ Did you have any idea what that was about?”</p><p>     “No!” Emily exclaimed, growing increasingly frustrated. “I told you, we thought he was—” She stopped, realizing she had stood up from her seat. Dr. Finn remained stoic as she sat back down and said, quieter, “We thought he was paranoid and delusional from the drugs.”</p><p>     “Drugs had never made him act that way before. I’m sure you know that.”</p><p>     Emily crossed her arms. “And how the hell do you know about <em> that?” </em> she demanded.</p><p>     Dr. Finn’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t answer. “What did you learn at the bar?”</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     <em> “This is ridiculous,” Harold Foreman, the owner of the bar, grumbled as Emily slapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. </em></p><p>
  <em>      She ignored him. “Well, if you can’t defend yourself right now, you’re under arrest under suspicion of the murders of—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Stop! Okay!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Emily paused looking over at the other officers. “Yes?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Yeah. Um... </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “We’re waiting?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Foreman sighed. “There’ve been...rumors. About this place.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Care to tell us?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I know about the poisonings that have been going on,” Foreman began, sitting down on one of the barstools, “but I didn’t do nothin’—promise. I’ll say that in court. But some of my, uh...clientele…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Are killers?” JJ offered. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Are suspicious,” Foreman corrected her. “They don’t say much, but I’ve seen the way they behave with each other.” He lowered his voice. “There’s some big thing hanging around, like a gang. We’ve had a lot of gangs come and go here, but nothing like this. Some of my folks say that a few of ‘em are running amok. Causing all this.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Could you explain that better?” Emily asked. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Foreman looked reluctant, but he did. “There’s a big gang that’s all about science. Corrupting the industry, you see—just for profit. Word has it that there are a few in the group who are completely nuts. Killing innocent people, because they have the resources.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Do you have their names?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Of the killers? Or of the gang?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Emily rolled her eyes. “Either would be fine.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Well, the entire gang, I don’t know—at least, not them, specifically.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “What do you mean?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Foreman looked around, despite being the only civilian in the bar. “Every victim from those other poisonings—at the bar and the festival—they were all friends of my patrons.” </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     <em> “What?” </em>Dr. Finn exclaimed.</p><p>     JJ sighed. “All the victims traced back to that bar. According to Foreman, it was a hub for that gang. Like a meeting place. He told us there must have been a few people who had beef with the rest of the gang and took it out on their friends and family to get to them.”</p><p>     “What was wrong?”</p><p>     “The business. This gang was built on tampered medical equipment; switching up drugs. It was basically a way to get more money when hospitals provided funding for their labs. Foreman thought a few people wanted out, so they set off picking off the rest of the gang, one by one. He didn’t know where any of those patrons worked, though, and never asked for ID when getting drinks.”</p><p>     “Hold up,” Dr. Finn interrupted, “you said that the gang members were the ones being picked off. I thought it was their friends.”</p><p>     JJ shook her head. “Foreman had more to tell us.” When Dr. Finn waited, she confessed, “He said that the five victims with potassium cyanide in their systems were our UNSUBS.”</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     “Which meant we had a new case on our hands,” Rossi murmured, his voice growing quiet. “Now, we had to figure out who had killed our UNSUBS. We also had to figure out if the same person killed the three civilians in the bar.”</p><p>     “On those civilians,” Dr. Finn backtracked, “they had acid poured in their eyes?”</p><p>     “Yep.”</p><p>     “Why were they killed like this?”</p><p>     “Well, I had a guess,” Rossi explained, holding his hands out like he was straightening a picture frame. <em> “See no evil. </em>They were witnesses.”</p><p>     “Witnesses to the five murderers’ crimes?” Finn clarified. Rossi nodded. “So if your new UNSUB knew which patrons were killers and which patrons were accessories…”</p><p>     “We still had to look at that gang,” Rossi finished. “Likely, this was the leader of the organization. My guess was that he caught wind of what his people were doing and put an end to it. Like a mob hit.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn shook his head, chin in his hand. “Excuse me, but that is damn messed up.”</p><p>     “You can say that again.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn took a moment before moving on. “On the hotel,” he said.</p><p>     Rossi was suddenly quiet. “I know what happened at the hotel,” he said firmly.</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>      Rossi had been to many crack dens, analysis centers, and meth labs in his life. It came with the jobs. But he’d never seen anything quite like Spencer’s hotel room—a combination of all three. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      The bathroom was a laboratory. The closets were filled with jars and syringes. One forensic tech upturned the bed and found pages of writing stapled underneath the mattress; formulas and background checks. The desk was littered with files and burner phones. A thick stack of flowers lay bundled in loose twine and discarded in the closet—the same flowers Emily had received and Tara had identified as belladonna. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      In short, it was a nightmare. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Rossi pulled out his phone. “Emily.” </em>
</p><p>     “You’re going to want to hear this.”</p><p>
  <em>      “Oh, I think you do, too.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     “Did you find anything else in the hotel room?” Dr. Finn queried.</p><p>     Rossi lifted his eyebrow. “That wasn’t enough for you?” When Dr. Finn only blinked, he snapped his fingers, a sardonic smile on his face. “Oh, right. I forgot that you’re investigating <em> me, </em> too.” He leaned back, arms crossed defiantly. “No, sir. I didn’t hide anything, I didn’t throw anything away, and I didn’t shoot up anything.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn wasn’t amused. “You’re telling the truth?”</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     <em> The techs had moved on at his order, making reports and sending messages in the hallway. Once everyone had left, Rossi made his way into the bathroom and closed in on the medicine cabinet, a pocketknife in one hand. </em></p><p>
  <em>      It was not unlike a cartel stash. Bottles of unfamiliar pills and liquids lined the shelves. That wasn’t what Rossi was looking for. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      No, instead, he swept the drugs off the shelves and pried at the panel of wood in the back of the cabinet with his knife, tugging hard until it came free and revealed a small compartment inside the wall. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      In the compartment was a DVD. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      And instead of calling over a tech, Rossi tucked the disc in his jacket pocket and walked out of the hotel room. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>······························</p><p> </p><p>     “Absolutely,” Rossi affirmed. He glanced over at the sheet of paper that Dr. Finn was toying with. “And given all this information…we started to know what we were dealing with.”</p><p>     Dr. Finn slid the paper across the desk. “Which brings you to your second profile. Except this time,” he added with a half-smile, “you already knew who you were looking for.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whoooooooooa, that was a lot to process. I hope that wasn’t too confusing, but if it was, here’s a synopsis:</p><p>-there’s a pharmacy-corrupting organization<br/>-five of these people in the group want to get out of it, so they start killing the friends and family of their “teammates”; hence, all the murders<br/>-someone (likely the leader) finds out about the murders and kills the five people, plus a few witnesses<br/>-this someone is also probably Spencer, who is missing, high, and acting delusional</p><p>I hope that wasn’t too confusing. If it was, sorry about that! Please let me know.</p><p>Also, congrats to everyone who guessed a lot of this correctly!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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